by Tina Kashian
“Who is he?” Katie whispered.
Lucy shook her head.
“You’re late again.” The strange man’s gravelly voice shot through the clear night air and made Lucy jump.
“I’m grieving. Heather’s dead,” Paul said.
“I’ve heard. You should be grateful. That broad caused you a lot of trouble.”
“How can you say that about her? You’re a bastard.”
Hoarse laughter. “I’ve been called worse. But you’re not off the hook, remember? Mr. C wants his cash.”
“Your boss could just let it go,” Paul said, a note of whining in his voice.
“Why would he do that?”
“He doesn’t need the money.”
“You’re right. Mr. C doesn’t. But being generous is not how he got to where his is.”
Were they talking about Mr. Citteroni? Was the man Paul was meeting one of Mr. Citteroni’s henchmen? Lucy recalled what Paul had said about the mobster and a tremor of unease slid down her spine. Shuffling forward, she tried to get a better view. Despite the cool evening, sweat trickled down her brow.
“You’re no better than the bully you work for,” Paul said.
Crude laughter again. “Don’t be a hypocrite. You’re not as upstanding as you’d like others to believe, are you, Mr. Evans? You knew about her gambling all along. I’d know better than to stay with that broad.”
Paul took a step back and turned. In the dim lighting, Lucy saw him flinch. He withdrew an envelope from his jacket pocket and tossed it to the man. “Here. Take it.”
The man opened the envelope, glimpsed inside, and gave a terse nod. “This is good for now. Now get out of here.”
Lucy panicked. She’d wanted to get close enough to hear, but she never considered how she was going to leave undetected. She turned to Katie and saw similar alarm reflected in her eyes. If Paul passed them on his way out of the alley, he would spot them.
Just as Lucy was going to signal they make a run for it, Katie snatched a rusted can from the ground and tossed it far into the alley. It landed with cacophony of noise in the silent night and bounced several times.
“What the hell was that?” the man snapped.
“Sounded like an animal knocked something over. Maybe a cat or rats?” Paul said.
Lucy and Katie didn’t hesitate. Scrambling from behind the Dumpster, they sprinted to the street and ducked behind a parked car. Hearts pounding, they waited.
After a minute passed, Katie whispered, “It worked. I don’t think they saw us.”
Moments later, Paul emerged from the alley and climbed back into his white BMW.
Lucy let out a held-in breath. “We did it.”
“Thank God. It scared the crap out of me,” Katie said.
“You thought fast on your feet back there,” Lucy pointed out.
Katie blinked. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Let’s get out of here before that man comes out of the massage parlor or anyone else spots us.”
They made it to their car and drove back to Katie’s house. Lucy collapsed on a kitchen chair while Katie rummaged through the cabinets. She returned with a victorious smile and bag of chocolate chip cookies.
“I can think of nothing better to calm ourselves with than junk food.” Katie opened the bag. “Who do you think that man was?”
Lucy reached for a cookie. It was crisp and chocolatey and was just what she needed after their harrowing escape. “He called his boss Mr. C. It has to be Mr. Citteroni.”
Katie munched on a cookie and spoke with her mouth full. “What do you think was in the envelope Paul gave him?”
“Money. Probably to pay off Heather’s gambling debts,” Lucy said.
Katie swallowed. “You’re probably right. Paul is hiding information from the police. And you know what the police say about suspects who continuously lie—they’re most likely guilty of the crime.”
* * *
At precisely seven the following evening, Michael Citteroni knocked on the door.
Lucy stepped onto the porch and eyed the Harley-Davidson warily. “I’m still not sure this is a good idea.”
He took her elbow and led her to the bike. “There’s nothing to it. You sit, hold on, and I’ll do the driving.”
It would help if he wasn’t so attractive. His wavy, dark hair brushed the collar of his worn leather jacket and his blue eyes were fringed with thick lashes that any woman would envy.
She felt a stirring of guilt after being locked in a walk-in refrigerator with Azad yesterday and sharing his body heat.
Ridiculous.
She didn’t owe either man her loyalty. Azad may want to be more than friends, but Lucy wasn’t convinced. Although she had her doubts that he was capable of murder, she couldn’t dismiss the obvious. He had motive and opportunity. As for Michael Citteroni, he may ooze sex appeal and portray the enticing bad boy motorcycle image that had lured plenty of good girls to their doom, but the only reason Lucy had agreed to meet him tonight was to glean some information about his father’s true interest in her family’s restaurant.
And after the adventurous stakeout last night, she wanted to learn about Michael’s father.
Michael held out a black helmet. The side was inscribed with a scull and crossbones. “This is yours.” When she didn’t immediately reach for it, he placed the helmet on her head and fastened it under her chin. He sat on the bike. “Ready?”
Lucy took a breath, then climbed on the seat behind him. She’d waitressed for most of the day, and had changed from her uniform to a pair of jeans and boots.
“You’re going to love this,” he said. “There’s nothing like your first ride. Now hold on tight.”
Uncomfortable with touching him, her fingers brushed both sides of his jacket. The leather creaked as he gripped the wide handlebars, then the engine roared to life beneath her like a powerful beast.
Lucy’s heart thudded as they rode down Ocean Avenue toward the Atlantic City Expressway. Soon they were on the highway and picking up speed. She forgot all about comfort and plastered herself to his back and held on for dear life as he sped down the highway in what felt like breathtaking speed.
She knew they weren’t going much over the speed limit gauging by the few cars that were on the road, but it felt like she was flying. After a few minutes, she got the nerve to open her eyes, lift her head, and took in her surroundings. He was right.
It was exhilarating.
The wind, the road, the scent of the ocean, the power of the engine all combined in an unforgettable experience. She felt a sense of freedom she’d never quite experienced before, and she wanted it to last. Her overheated skin cooled from the rush of air, and she loosened her death-grip from around his waist.
Too soon Michael turned back. The bike slowed as they reached Ocean Avenue. He passed Katie’s street and stopped the bike by a ramp that led to the boardwalk. After dismounting and removing their helmets, his blue gaze studied her.
“Well?” he asked.
Lucy felt a little breathless. “Thank you. It was fantastic.”
The corner of his lips curled in a knowing grin. “I knew I could turn your opinion around.”
They started up the ramp and soon were on the boardwalk. Lucy breathed in the salty ocean air. Several of the shops had opened early for the season and Michael bought her an ice cream cone. They enjoyed their cones as seagulls squawked and circled overhead. It was low tide and the steady, rhythmic pounding of waves on shore was calming. Lights from ships far out to sea blinked on the horizon, and the deep call of a foghorn sounded from afar.
“I held up my part of our bargain. Now it’s your turn,” Lucy said as she licked her ice cream.
“You were right. My father wants to buy the restaurant, but not for the business. He wants to tear down the building and expand the bike shop.”
Lucy lowered her cone. Tear down Kebab Kitchen? She experienced a mix of perplexing emotions. Would her parents allow such a thing? She’d rather s
ell to Azad or even the prospective buyer her parents had mentioned on her first day back, who wanted to turn it into another Jersey diner. The restaurant had so much meaning to all of them.
To her.
Damn. When had that happened?
She’d spent years in Philadelphia, working at the firm and trying to distance herself from the family business. After only ten days home, she found herself more emotionally invested than ever before. The nagging was back. Just like when she’d been baking with Azad, the uncomfortable feeling centered in her chest.
She didn’t want to see the place go. But if her parents wanted to retire and Emma and Max didn’t want it, then it was up to her to take over.
Could she do it?
Could she stay in Ocean Crest and give up her future practicing law?
“From your expression, I take it you think this is bad news?”
Lucy’s gaze snapped back to Michael. “It’s just that . . . I don’t know if . . .” She took a deep breath. “My parents were under the impression Mr. Citteroni wanted to convert Kebab Kitchen to a high class Italian place. I don’t think they would sell it knowing it would be torn down.”
I don’t think I’d want them to.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe her parents were tired and wouldn’t care if their labor of love of thirty years was bulldozed to the ground?
“No, my dad was pretty clear when we talked,” Michael said. “He’s only interested in the property.”
She felt a trickle of annoyance and wanted to argue, but held her tongue. Michael had done her a favor by being truthful. She may not like what she’d heard, but it wasn’t his fault. “Thanks for telling me.”
“You’re welcome. He’s not the easiest parent to talk to.”
“I’m sorry.” She wondered what it would be like to have a father like Mr. Citteroni. From what Lucy had heard ever since she was a kid, he was a gangster. Last night’s spying episode in the dark alley didn’t change her opinion. She had no desire to appear on Mr. Citteroni’s radar. “What about your siblings?”
“I have one younger sister. Teresa and I are opposites. She idolizes my father and takes after him. She involves herself in his business enterprises as much as he’ll allow her.”
Lucy was getting the picture. Michael was different, wanted to be different. “What about your mom?”
“She died when I was a teenager. They never got along. My dad has a temper, and my mom learned to stay away from him. I never blamed her. Most grown men are apprehensive around him.”
Lucy wondered if poor Mrs. Citteroni and a young Michael had born the brunt of his father’s temper while the younger Teresa escaped his wrath. “Why did you agree to run the bicycle shop for your father this summer?”
His face shuttered. “He’s not easy to say no to, but for different reasons now. I’m no longer afraid of him, but the truth is, he knows how to elicit family guilt.”
“Hey, if it’s any consolation, my dad’s not easy to say no to either.” She recalled when her father had asked her to step up and help the family business by waitressing on her first day back. Raffi Berberian could be just as manipulative when he truly wanted something.
“Then we have something else in common. Hot-blooded and hotheaded ethnic families.”
“I guess you can say that.”
“I like you, Lucy. You’re easy to talk to.”
Michael Citteroni may be handsome enough to make most women swoon, but Lucy felt kinship blossom between them. He got up to throw away his ice cream cone in a nearby trashcan.
“Hey! You shouldn’t throw that out. The end of an ice cream cone is the best part.”
“Sorry,” he chuckled. “I don’t want to get ice cream on this fine leather jacket.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Then hand it over.”
They settled on a bench facing the ocean and chatted for another hour. Soon it was dark, and he stood and offered his arm. “Are you ready to go home?”
As he walked her to the ramp leading off the boardwalk, moonlight illuminated the single pier with the Ferris wheel and old-fashioned wooden roller coaster. “Too bad the pier isn’t open yet. We could have ridden the coaster.”
“I used to love that coaster. It reminds me of my high school dates,” Lucy said.
“Sorry. You’ll just have to be content with a ride on a Harley.”
“You converted me. I just may buy my own motorcycle.”
It was his turn to roll his eyes. “Heaven forbid. Just don’t buy one with more horsepower than mine. I don’t think I could live that down.”
CHAPTER 16
Lucy slowed from a jog to a brisk walk on the beach. She swept the sand off the stone of a jetty overlooking the Atlantic Ocean and sat. A breeze cooled her heated cheeks and blew stray wisps of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. The ocean was calm this morning, and sunlight glistened off the sparkling surface like glittering diamonds. In the distance, two sailboats coasted along. She spotted a seashell, picked it up, and held it to her ear. The distant sounds of waves pounding against the shore echoed in her ear. Lowering the shell, she breathed in the ocean air.
The magnificent view was tranquil and so vast it made her feel insignificant in the scope of the universe. It was easy for someone to forget all their troubles.
She sighed. If only she could forget. But Heather’s murder could not easily be ignored. The family business had already suffered consequences and lost customers. Calvin Clemmons considered her a prime suspect and Stan Slade could put another nail in the coffin by printing a fantastic story in the Town News about a dead health inspector, a hummus bar, and a former high school rival turned killer.
If only she’d unearthed something useful . . . but the current list of suspects hadn’t changed. She thought back to who had been in the restaurant the day Heather died.
Her parents were in their office working on payroll.
Butch was cooking. He had opportunity when he prepared the pita, but no motive. Clemmons had questioned him, and as far as Lucy knew, he wasn’t a suspect. Plus, she had known him since she was in pigtails, and he was trusted by her parents.
Azad was in the dining room when Heather arrived, then he moved into the kitchen to talk with Big Al. Azad had motive and opportunity to slip something into the hummus bar. But would he go to such lengths, killing the food inspector in order to lower the value of the business so he could turn around and purchase it cheaply?
Big Al was in the kitchen. He had opportunity, but he did not even know the victim and had no motive. The police had questioned him, as well.
Guido Morelli and Mac McCabe both had motive for Heather’s blackmail schemes, and they had opportunity to slip cyanide into her iced tea when she’d delivered inspection reports.
Paul Evans admitted to stopping by during her work shift to see Heather which meant he had opportunity. He’d held back information from the police about Heather’s gambling addiction and that she’d gambled away an impressive chunk of his last royalties. Lucy wondered what else he was hiding. He was her prime suspect to date.
Anthony Citteroni was another possibility. Could he somehow be responsible? He may want the property, but he seemed an unlikely suspect. Michael said his father rarely visited the bike shop and the chances were slim that he’d been there the night Heather died.
Lucy stood and stretched her legs. Frustration roiled inside her. She was no closer to finding the killer.
Maybe she should shift her focus. Look at it from a different angle. Maybe she was overlooking the obvious. If she could figure out exactly how Heather was poisoned, then she would know who did it. Lucy suspected Heather’s iced tea was laced with cyanide, but what if she was wrong? What it if was delivered differently?
After draining her water bottle, she decided to stop at the restaurant on her way back to Katie’s home to get a refill.
Lucy was sweating again by the time she made it to Kebab Kitchen. Gadoo was eating from his food bowl outside by the back door and he looked
up long enough to give her a welcoming meow. She made a mental note to buy more cat treats on her next visit to Holloway’s.
As soon as Lucy stepped inside, Emma rushed to her side, her face flushed. “Lucy, thank goodness you’re here.”
“What’s wrong, Em?” Lucy set her water bottle on a table and turned to her sister.
“See for yourself,” Emma said.
Lucy’s fingers twisted by her side as her parents walked into the dining room alongside a slender woman with short cropped hair in a stylish bob, a classy beige suit, and respectable heels. She was clutching a briefcase. Even without the briefcase, Lucy recognized the very air around the woman—confidence and a touch of arrogance.
Perhaps it took one to know one—a fellow lawyer.
The hair on Lucy’s nape rose on end. Why would her family meet with an attorney?
Lucy’s mother rubbed her gold cross between her thumb and forefinger. Not a good sign. Her dad swiped a hand over his thinning pate. Another bad sign.
Her parents spotted her beside Emma and relief simultaneously crossed their faces.
“See,” Emma muttered. “I knew they’d be happy to see you.”
Lucy approached the trio who were standing by the hummus bar.
“Lucy, this is Ms. Marsha Walsh, the Ocean County Prosecutor,” Raffi said before he motioned to Lucy. “And this is our younger daughter, Lucy Berberian.”
The county prosecutor. Warning bells went off in Lucy’s head. If the prosecutor was in Ocean Crest, that meant Detective Clemmons had summoned her.
Her father touched her arm and his chest puffed a few inches in his button down shirt, “Lucy’s a lawyer, as well.”
Lucy knew her father didn’t mean to put her in an awkward position. She also knew what her parents were thinking. They were intimidated by the prosecutor, and they believed if they pointed out Lucy had a law degree, Ms. Walsh would be more cautious around them.
Lucy forced her lips to curl in a smile. Dressed in sweaty running clothes and sandy sneakers, she felt anything but confident. Her stomach churned with anxiety.
